EPISODE THIRTY-ONE
Mike stood at the bar with Andrew.
‘Have whatever you like,’ he offered.
‘A few hours won’t make any difference.’
‘Cheers,
Dad! I’ll have a snakebite.’
His father frowned.
‘It’s cider and lager.’
‘I
know what it is, Andy. Since when have
you been on the serious drinker’s potion?’
‘Since
this afternoon. I met some old school
mates down at the Sussex.’
‘Snakebite’ll
do your head in.’
‘You
just said I could have what I like.’
‘Within
reason.’ Seeing his son’s sullen
expression, he added, ‘Oh go on then: snakebite it is.’
He
ordered the drinks. Next to him, a man
on a bar stool was talking loudly.
‘...I
mean, why do these young girls wear such scanty clothing if they don’t like us
to look?’
‘They
feel pressured,’ said Mike, an unholy glint coming into his eye. ‘They’ve got
to wear scanty clothes because all the other girls are wearing them.’
The
man pounced on it. ‘Exactly. No individuality. Follow-the-herd
instinct. That’s what it’s all about.’
Mike
had hooked his quarry. Time to reel him
in. Staring at the man’s tie, he said,
‘It’s a bit like blokes wearing a tie.
They wear them ‘cos they feel they’ve got to.
But a tie’s nothing more than an
adornment. It serves no useful
purpose. ’He let his eyes drop pointedly
at the man’s bulging stomach. ‘Unless
it’s to cover a beer gut.’
The
man laughed nervously. ‘You can
talk. You’re not exactly sylph-like.’
‘No,
but then I don’t feel a pathetic need to wear a tie like the rest of the herd.’
The
man looked at his near-empty glass, pretending he was ready for another drink,
and rummaged in his pockets for some change.
‘Dad,
mind if we sit down?’ asked Andrew.
They
got their drinks and went and sat in a far corner of the bar.
Andrew
stared at his father, frowning. ‘Why d’you always pick on people?’
‘I
don’t. Well, only on the prats who
deserve it.’
‘You’ll
get your head kicked in one of these days.’
Mike
shrugged. ‘I like living dangerously.’
‘I
thought you might be taking it out on that bloke because of what’s happened to
Chloe.’
Mike
chuckled. ‘My pub behaviour’s always been the same.
Nothing more I like than a good wind up; a
bit of banter. By the way, has Mum told
you the latest developments with Chloe?’
Andrew
nodded, toying with his glass, staring at the murky concoction.
‘It’s
because of what’s happened,’ continued Mike, ‘that your mum and me...well, it’s
about tomorrow...’
‘You’ve
forgotten, haven’t you?’
‘It’s
been a difficult time for us.’
‘Yeah,
well, it’s just one of those things. No
big deal.’
‘We’ll
make it up to you.’
‘It
doesn’t matter, Dad. It really
doesn’t. I’m going to inherit the ten
grand Nan and Grandpa left me.
Why should you and Mum forgetting my birthday
bother me?’
*
Thinking it was Chloe ringing,
Claire hurried into the hall and grabbed the phone.
There was a slight pause before the person
spoke.
‘Hello.
My name’s Jackie Ingbarton.
Your husband cuts my fiancé’s hair.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,
I’m sorry to ring so late. It’s a bit
difficult to explain. It’s just that...’
‘Did
Mike ask you to ring?’
‘Mike?’
‘My
husband.’
‘No,
it was my idea. I’m sorry, I don’t know
your name.’
‘Claire.’
There
was a long pause, followed by a quick intake of breath before Jackie spoke
again.
‘The
thing is, Claire, your husband confided in Nigel – that’s my fiancé – that your
daughter’s about to terminate her pregnancy.’
‘What’s
that got to do with you?’
‘Well,
as a Missionary for the Pre-Born, I would like to have a word with your
daughter about saving the life of her child, instead of...’
Claire
snapped: ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.
Mind your own damn business!’
She
slammed the phone down and burst into tears.
‘Oh,
Mike,’ she sobbed. ‘How
could you?’
IN EPISODE THIRTY-TWO
Donald has bad news concerning
Bamber and Mike meets the grieving widow.